


Stan the Music Man

by kissteethstainred



Category: Lovely Little Losers, Nothing Much to Do
Genre: Balthazar Jones Centric, Balthazar POV, Balthazar's Life, Balthazar/Damian, Character Study, HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAVANAH, Hints at Peter/Balthazar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 13:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4961590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissteethstainred/pseuds/kissteethstainred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ode to Stanley Balthazar Jones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stan the Music Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [balthazarjones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/balthazarjones/gifts).



> Ahhh so Savanah @[qiunnjames](http://qiunnjames.tumblr.com/) was talking to me about her birthday and said, "You should write me a Balth fic," and I said, "What? No, haha, I couldn't" and promptly 2 seconds later got ideas. So, without much further ado, here you go! I'm sorry for the lateness, but HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAVANAH! Savanah is one of the sweetest persons I've ever met, and she's a ray of sunshine and I love her, so here's a gift to you in one of the ways I know how to do it. 
> 
> This fic is posted and written up to "Videos!!!" - if any video afterwards contradicts anything I've written in here, that's the reason why. This fic should follow canon from the first video of NMTD to "Videos!!!" in LLL. (Also, thanks to TCW for announcing that Balthazar had twin siblings when I was already 11k into this fic. That was wonderful.) 
> 
> Any mistakes are my own. 
> 
> I love Stanley Balthazar Jones very much.

When Stanley is six years old, his relatives have a big family gathering. It’s the usual for them, because they’re all very close, and as usual, it’s a long, loud night, full of “Do you remember when—” stories and laughter.

Somewhere into everyone’s second glass of alcohol, and around eight at night, one of Stanley’s aunts, Aunt Dana, grabs his mother’s hands and says, “Oh, Aurora, won’t you sing for us, please, I haven’t heard your lovely voice in so long—”

Stanley’s mother, rosy in the cheeks either from the wine or the flattery, protests that she couldn’t, not really, oh, Dana, stop, and finally succumbs when the room starts chanting, “Sing! Sing! Sing!”

“Oh, alright, alright,” she says, with an easy smile. “Where’s Rory?”

Rory is Stanley’s uncle—actually related, unlike Aunt Dana, who married into the family—and also musically inclined like his sister. They find Rory in the living room, and he agrees amicably when Stanley’s mother asks for him to play a song she can sing to. The house they’re in doesn’t have a piano, but someone pulls a dusty guitar from a closet, and Rory agrees to play.

Everyone shuffles around the room, forming a semicircle around the two siblings. Rory sits at a stool and strums the guitar, tuning it a little, and Stanley’s mother waits for him, leaning her arm on his shoulder. They’re so obviously siblings—they have the same red hair, green eyes, and easy smiles—and Rory smiles up at her to let her know she’s ready.

He starts playing the guitar, someone in the crowd around them lets out a whoop, and Stanley’s mother smiles even bigger, swaying a little and waiting for her cue. Stanley doesn’t recognize the song until his mother starts singing—it’s [Sweet Caroline](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLPiYZrwAzU), a classic in the Jones household. His mother’s voice is high and sweet, and she knows how to hold a note. Once she sings, “Sweet Caroline,” the entire room says, “Bum, bum, _bum_ ,” and everyone laughs. His mother sways a little more, hand still on Rory’s shoulder, and it’s a known fact that Aurora Jones, née Corvey, is as sweet and lovely as her voice—which is to say, extremely so.

She gets to the second verse, and when she sings, “Warm, touching warm,” she turns towards Stanley’s father. His dad laughs, a bit pink-cheeked himself, and Stanley’s mother reaches her hand out to him as she sings, “Reaching out, touching me, touching you.” His father graciously takes her hand and sings along with her, not quite as good, but his scratchy voice matches well with her high one. They smile at each other and seem years younger.

Rosa laughs from where she’s standing behind Stanley, her arms around his stomach, and makes him sway with her. Everyone is singing along by now, and Stanley doesn’t feel shy in joining in, and when his mother finishes singing, everyone claps. Stanley’s mother curtseys, looking extremely flattered, and then claps for her brother. Rory knocks his shoulder against her side, and then he continues to strum the guitar, playing a song that Stanley doesn’t recognize. It’s a fast paced song, and his fingers fly over the strings. Before, Stanley had only been enamoured with the way his father played the piano—now he watches Rory’s fingers play up and down the strings, listening to the soft _twangs_ when he does so, and bursts into tears.

Rosa is immediately alarmed, and her arms leave Stanley’s waist. “Mom! Dad!” she yells. “Stan is crying!”

His mother and father rush over, his father scooping him up. Rosa immediately goes over to Joseph, where he’s playing with the twins.

“Darling,” his mother says, “what’s wrong?”

Stanley won’t stop crying enough to be heard coherently, so his father takes him into another, much quieter, room. His father hushes him and waits for him to calm down, his mother sitting down nearby. His father’s eyebrows are furrowed underneath the rim of his glasses, and his mother looks worried. Stanley hates making them worried, so he stops.

“What’s the matter, darling?” his mother asks.

“U-uncle Rory can play the guitar really good,” Stanley replies, rubbing at the snot under his nose. “ _I_ want to be that good.”

His mother and father exchange a look. “Is that all?” his father asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” Stanley says, wondering why they don’t seem concerned that he’s so distraught over this. Maybe he shouldn’t be this upset. They’re smiling, so Stanley smiles too.

“Very well,” his mother says, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “We’ll talk to Rory. How do you feel about that?”

Stanley considers, nods his head. “Alright.”

Rory thanks him for the compliment, telling him that if he wants to get as good as Rory—or better, which stuns Stanley, because no one can surely be better than _that_ —he has to practice a lot.

“Like the piano,” Stanley says. Rory agrees, although he says the two instruments are entirely different animals, and allows Stanley to strum the strings a little while he holds them down. It makes Stanley’s fingertips red, but he likes it.

Two days later, when his father comes him from work, he’s carrying a box with him. Rosa and Stanley’s older brother, Joseph, watch as he places the box in front of Stanley.

“For me?” Stanley asks.

“Open it, sweetie,” his mother says, smiling at him.

Stanley rips it open, trying to get the tape off of the box and failing to do so. Rosa laughs and helps him open it, as she’s the closest to him. Inside the box is a guitar—but no, that can’t be, it’s far too small.

He picks it up by the guitar and complains the same thing he thought: “It’s so _small_.” It’s not like Uncle Rory’s guitar in any way.

“It’s a ukulele,” Joseph says.

Stanley repeats the word. It feels strange on his tongue.  

“You’re not as grown up as Rory is yet,” Stanley’s father says. “So, your mother and I figured you could start off with the basics. A small guitar for a small music man.”

Stanley picks up the ukulele and holds it the way his mother instructs him to. When he strums it, the sound is much different from the guitar, but he likes it.

He looks up at his family, smiling, and rushes over to hug his parents.

As it turns out, he would eventually learn to play the guitar, but the ukulele would always be his favorite.

\--

When he’s eight years old, he decides that he is no longer Stanley. He is officially Balthazar.

His family is a creative one, and his mother and father decided to treat their names like it was art. It was a Jones family tradition—Jones was such a boring last name that all Jones kids have interesting first names. All of his family’s names are something special. Montgomery for his father. His brother’s full name is Josephus, and Rosa’s full name is Rosaline. When the twins are born, they’re named Genevieve and Theodore. And even though his mother wasn’t born a Jones, the name Aurora fits so easily within their family.

Only, for some reason, they decided to name Balthazar _Stanley_.

“Be grateful,” Joseph says to him. “It’s an easy name—do you know how annoying it is to write _Josephus_ on everything?”

“Or Rosaline?” Rosa adds, because Rosa doesn’t like to be excluded. “And how do you think Genevieve and Theo are going to do when they finally get into school?”

Dislike of being excluded is a Jones family trait. Their parents raised them to be so close to each other, absolutely open and trustworthy, that any indication of playing favorites is taken badly. So Balthazar pouts and hates the fact that his family moved his fun name to the middle.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry, but your father and I preferred the order you have now,” his mother says. “Balthazar Stanley Jones doesn’t sound as nearly as good as Stanley Balthazar Jones.”

Balthazar silently agrees, but he still complains. “I don’t wanna be a Stanley!”

“Then don’t be a Stanley,” Aurora replies, as easy as that.

So he tells his family that he, from now on, is Balthazar Jones. His mother and father smile and nod, easily switching over. Balthazar worries about his siblings, because they have always called him Stan from the moment he could walk, but they take is easily too. Rosa and Joseph drop Stan and adopt _Balth_ or _Balthy_ , Theo and Genevieve pick it up after a week or two, and it makes Balthazar feel warm.

\--

In all honesty, only Balthazar’s mother and father could have created and _raised_ the strange combination that is the Jones family. Balthazar has fully believed from a young age that his parents aren’t entirely human. Both of them, to him, were far too pretty—his mother with her red hair and green eyes and her beautiful singing voice, and his father with his blond hair and blue eyes and sturdy personality. They never seemed like normal parents. His mother is surrounded by music, her singing voice, the instruments she played, even her laugh. She teaches vocal lessons to local kids and church choirs. His father is a dental nurse, but he has a loud laugh and deft fingers for oil pastels and plays the piano extremely well. It’s how Aurora fell for him—she heard him playing piano at a uni party. She recognized the song and began singing, which is promptly how Balth’s father fell for her.

When they had kids, they set ground rules that, when combined together, created the personality’s of Joseph, Rosa, Balthazar, Genevieve, and Theo Jones. And such rules were: let them flourish in anything they want to do. If they want to paint, or do gymnastics, or read all day, or try out for debate team—whatever it is, encourage them, praise them. Accept them for who they are, no matter what happens, because they will always need our support. Respect them and love them unconditionally. Help them through anything they’re going through. Raise them to respect others. To never hide who they are. To always be true to themselves, to never want to pretend to be anybody else. To always speak their mind, to always be kind.

And so on.

So the children of this magnificent experiment of rules are: Joseph, who rejected sports from a young age and took interest in his father’s oil pastels. Only those bothered him, and soon he was introduced to painting. He likes dramas and operas and movies, and he likes the way his hands smudge from drawing with charcoal. He’s straightforward and the most stubborn person in the family, but usually kind and outgoing. Rosa grew up into prim young woman who enjoys reading books and is never overly fond of sports, but she can tolerate them. By the age of thirteen, she is a fierce social activist, and not afraid to let people know that she dislikes them. She is far too intelligent for her own good, and she is always right or you’re always wrong—yes, those are two different things.

Theodore and Genevieve grow into rascals, punks if anything. They’re far more energetic than anyone else in the family. Theodore is the one who takes up sports, getting involved in football, and he’s loud and energetic. He isn’t very good at figuring out what’s appropriate or not to say. Genevieve also takes up a sport, although she takes track. She can sing like Balthazar and Aurora, but it’s not a necessary thing for her like it is for them. Both Theo and Genevieve are honest, but sometimes their bluntness toes the line between honesty and cruelty.  

Balthazar isn’t the product of his mother and father raising him, but a combination of all six. He has his mother’s singing voice and his father’s love for instruments, and he is the only one of the kids to inherit his father’s blond hair. He is friendly, quiet, and loves his family fiercely.  He speaks his mind, but is never much one for confrontation—his father and mother’s loud talking, his sister nitpicking everything, his brother’s constant stubbornness, and the twins’ loud energy led to many, many loud arguments in the Jones household. Their parents encourage the arguments, encourage standing up for their beliefs and holding their own, but being raised with that made Balthazar one to keep his mouth shut. Even the small bickering over dinner makes him exhausted.

Balthazar Jones also grows up gay.

Not that he knows what it means, or anything. He doesn’t even known there is a difference, that there is a norm, and that he doesn’t fit it. He only knows that once he gets into intermediate school, suddenly everyone is in relationships or wants to be. Who crushes on who, who kisses who, have you even had your first kiss? Most importantly, whispered amongst the boys: which _girl_ is the prettiest? Which _girl_ is the best kisser? Has the best boobs?

There is a slight ripple of panic in his chest, because none of this is adding up in his head. But he keeps quiet, because he is good at that. He likes the quiet, he likes hearing others talk (another trait he got from such a loud, confronting family).

So he goes home, sees his father writing at his desk, and goes over to him. “Dad,” Balthazar says, cautiously, “why doesn’t anyone like boys?”

His father looks up from his papers and pushes the his glasses up the bridge of his nose—they’re always falling down. His eyebrows are so blond that Balthazar almost can’t see them. “Likes boys?” his father repeats, giving a small laugh. He leans back in his chair. “Many people like boys, Balth. For instance, I have three amazing sons, and I love them very much—”

“No, _Dad_ ,” Balthazar interrupts, exasperated. “Everyone at school is talking about liking and dating girls, but no one says the same of liking boys.”

“Oh.” His father is quiet for a moment, and he takes off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. “Balthazar,” he says in his _we need to talk_ voice, “do you like boys?”

Balthazar panics, because his father didn’t answer his question—why didn’t he answer Balthazar’s question? His parents never hold something back from them. His panic and fear shoots through him, and he can feel tears forming in his eyes. “Why?” Balthazar says, voice wet. “Is it bad? Is there something wrong with that? With me?”

“Oh, no. Oh, Balthazar, _no_.” His father pulls him into a tight hug, which have always felt comforting. Montgomery Jones, despite not playing sports, is sturdy and solid. “There is nothing wrong with that,” he says into Balthazar’s hair, and Balthazar doesn’t really know why he’s crying but he _is_. His father pulls away. Balthazar wipes at his cheeks with his sleeve. “Being in love is completely natural,” his father says. “And it doesn’t matter who that love is between. But I’m going to be honest with you.” Of course he is—Jones’s do not keep secrets. “There are people who will hate you for it,” his father continues, “and they will try to put you down. Do not listen to them, you hear me? Their words mean nothing. Remember that—the only thing that matters is that you stay true to yourself.”

Balthazar nods, wiping at his nose. “Should I mention it to others, though?”

His father winces, just barely, his eyes flicking away for a moment. “You know I would never tell you to hide yourself away,” his father says. “And I still don’t. But I’d advise you to be careful, Balthazar. There are many, many scary and mean people out there, who would hurt you for feeling that way.” Balthazar’s stomach turns to stones. “So do what you feel is right.”

Balthazar nods again, hugging his father and telling him thank you, and leaves the room.

\--

Balthazar isn’t exactly a loner in his intermediate school—he hangs out with the boys, talks with them during class and at lunch, and he has a couple of friends who are girls. He’s not a _hermit_ —people know him and they like him.

But he also knows that he doesn’t have a best friend, not in the way that Justin and Adam hang around each other, always laughing and hanging out at each other’s houses. He doesn’t even have a friend group, either, where he can go with them to the park or skateboard (Balthazar can’t even skateboard, so).

He just knows, inside, that he hasn’t really clicked with people yet. Rosa found her friends among the intellectuals, and Joseph found his friends with the art group. The only other music kids are in the band, which Balthazar has no interest in joining.

So he fringes, in a way. He hangs out with some boys at the breaks and is fine with just sitting there and eating, fine with having not to speak, and he has a least one person he can talk to in every class. It’s a pretty good setup.

Besides, Balthazar learns that he’s fine with being alone—he likes it, sometimes even desires it. He prefers to be at home, listening to his father play the piano and his mother sing as she folds laundry. He prefers to write down the lyrics constantly jumping through his brain. He prefers to refine his musical talents, to push himself to get better and better, because maybe things aren’t perfect right now, but they will be, he knows. Jones’s are a positive people, so Balthazar sets his sights on the future.

\--

Everyone is excited to go to secondary school, to finally grow up—to get their licenses, to drive places and have adventures, to go to parties, to date. Balthazar can feel himself getting excited for it too. Only he gets to secondary school and falls—mostly—into the same routine he did last time.

This time, it’s easier because of music class. It’s not a band class, although it’s run by the band teacher, but actually a class for kids to learn to play instruments. In a way it’s like band—they’ll have to perform at the winter show, and their final is how well they can play an instrument learned in the class (Balthazar curses) individually and in an orchestra—but Balthazar meets both new instruments and new, excited music kids.

A lot of them are from higher grades, but Balthazar enjoys their company—David, Hannah, Jeremy, and Mel. There’s only one other person in the class who plays the ukulele, a girl who introduces herself as Savanah, and they switch off playing every once in awhile.

There are a couple of other kids he gets along with in his classes, especially these three boys Ben, Claudio, and Pedro. They’re all loud and outgoing, Ben the most out of all of them, and Ben likes to include Balthazar in the fold. “You remind me of a little ducking,” he tells Balthazar.

“He’s taller than you,” Pedro reminds Ben.

“Not for much longer,” Ben says. “All the doctors say I’m going to hit a major growth spurt.”

Pedro snorts. “Whatever.” He gives Balthazar this look, like, _sorry for my absolutely ridiculous friend, but I really can’t stop him,_ and Balthazar suppresses the urge to smile back.

He has them in a couple of classes, and they’re funny guys, if a little annoying at times. Balthazar partners up with them for projects and labs to even out their trio. They talk about girls (the usual) and football (nothing that Balthazar is particularly interested in) but he asks questions about it anyways. He gets very enthusiastic answers in return. Ben interrupts the conversation to talk about how _Doctor Who_ is the greatest TV show ever, and both Pedro and Claudio groan.

Sometimes Balthazar gets this funny feeling in his stomach when he looks at Pedro. It’s nothing huge, almost like a warmth, a touch of curiosity. Pedro is loud, sure, but he’s also confident in himself, open to talking to new people. He’s good at sports and good at people, and Balthazar doesn’t like him because that’s what Balthazar wishes he could be like—Balthazar is content with himself—but because he just admires those qualities in general. And maybe there is something more about Pedro than anyone else. Balthazar can’t tell, just knows that his stomach only squirms when he talks to Pedro.

But he remembers his father’s words, about people scared of differences, about being cautious, so any time he looks too long at Pedro, he looks away.

\--

There are many other things that are fondly called a Jones family trait:

They dislike most dishonesty and any form of holding back information, because they’ve always been open with each other. There’s always a basis of trust there, which is why he likes the three boys. They’re close together, and they laugh and joke a lot, and Balthazar playing the ukulele is, like, the coolest thing ever.

“The chicks dig it,” Ben says. “Being musical. Trust me, in a few years, you’ll have a line behind you.”

“Chicks also dig football,” Claudio says.

“ _I_ dig music,” Balthazar says, trying not to look too uncomfortable. He’s carefully avoiding lying or any sort of implication that he would be interested in girls liking things he does.

Jones’s don’t like prefer fake people, and Balthazar tries to stay away from them. People that gossip, people that cause drama—maybe it all leads back to confrontation, or does it all lead back to lying? Whatever it is, they’re not good people to hang around. Balthazar can understand it—maybe pretending to be straight, for instance, but at the same, that’s not really the same thing as faking things.

And Jones’s do not like being excluded. Sometimes Balthazar vaguely gets that, with the three of them, but he also knows they’ve been friends longer than he’s been there. He tries not to mind that they talk about plans in front of him without inviting him, but other times he’s glad for a reprieve. He sometimes forgets, sometimes, how he likes the company of pianos and drums and ukulele’s to the company of people, how he sometimes likes the quiet of his bedroom to the noise of the video games.

There’s only so many times that he can deal with talks about football or girls.

\--

Joseph comes back from university on his break, brimming with new ideas and art styles and excitement. The entire family goes back to one of their Aunt’s houses for another family reunion, and Balthazar is excited—it’s been so long since he’s been to one.

And it’s completely different than being six years old. All of the adults say, “Oh, Stanley, how big you are!” and he politely tells them the same and, “Call me Balthazar, please.” They hug him or kiss his cheek, and they offer him beer. “It won’t hurt you,” Uncle Wesley says. “Come on, just a tiny sip.”

Balthazar takes one, just to humor him, and it tastes rather awful. Uncle Wesley laughs at his expression and says, “Not for everyone, kid.”

Theo and Genevieve run through their relatives, weaving around them and playing with the younger siblings. Rosa is excitedly telling one of their cousins about a book they’re reading in class, because apparently they’re reading the same one despite going to different schools. Joseph is stuck between the aunts, commenting on his handsome he’s become, how much like his mother he looks, what a man he’s become. Joseph looks vaguely uncomfortable at the compliments. Balthazar gets similar comments, how much like his father he is, and after two hours in, his cousin Liz asks, “Don’t you have any of your mother in you?”

Balthazar shrugs. “Her voice, I guess. If singing can be passed down.”

“Oh, can you?” she asks, getting excited. “You guys must sing together. Ma! Ma! Where’s Aunt Aurora?”

It’s a similar setting to when he was six. Aurora drags Rory out, and Balthazar laughs at his grey hairs showing. “See if you can match her, kid,” Rory tells Balthazar, and Balthazar is pulled to the front with Aurora. He can feel the entire family watching him, and he’s always been shy, only performing in class or for his friends and family. He doesn’t do huge performances like this—but then Rory is strumming the guitar, and the riff is so fucking iconic, so instantly familiar, that Balthazar laughs. His mother is grinning, because it’s another Jones classic (or maybe it’s a Corvey classic)—[Ghost Riders in the Sky](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mynzbmrtp9I).

Rory is still strumming, and then his mother sings, “An old cowboy went riding out one dark and windy day.”

Her voice is high and melodic, but she manages to make her deepest octave sound beautiful. Balthazar grins, waiting for her to finish the verse. They sing the chorus together, carrying the “Yippie ya ohhhh” and “Yippie ya ayyyy” in one drawn out note. When Balthazar sings, “Ghost riders in the sky,” his mother sings the background vocals. It’s one of the most beautiful, surreal moments of Balthazar’s life.

His mother motions for him to continue, so he sings the next verse. His voice is shaky, and he isn’t quite one for low octaves either, but he manages to get around it. His siblings are grinning, Joseph giving him a thumbs up when their eyes meet, and everyone else is clapping in rhythm to the tune.

They pick up the chorus together again, and Balthazar wishes he had his ukelele with him to be able to play along with Rory. The song ends with Balthazar’s mother carrying the last note before dropping off, and then Rory’s finger picks at the last guitar string, the sound carrying through the room. Everyone bursts into claps and cheers, and Aurora hugs Balthazar close to her, kissing his cheek and telling him that she’s proud of him.

Balthazar lets Aurora hug Rory next, his family coming over to congratulate him on spectacular singing. It makes him feel flushed, high on excitement and achievement, and then Rory comes over to give him a one-armed hug. “Good job, kid,” he says, and Balthazar feels a rush of pride. He _likes_ performing, he realizes. Once the jitters are over, he really likes it.

Rosa and Joseph mention it on the way home, while Balthazar taps out a song onto his knee. Genevieve compliments him on his vocal range, and Theo gives him a fist bump. Balthazar has lyrics swirling around his head again, something about breaking out, about not being afraid anymore.

When he gets home, he scribbles it all down, and it all seems like rambling. He knows he’ll throw it together later.

\--

Joseph is only staying for a week or so before he has to go back to school, and Balthazar enjoys being around his company again. The twins are younger than him, and Rosa still has a year left, but Balthazar truly misses Joseph and the smell of paint around the house.

On the second night there, Joseph clears his throat at dinner.

“Can I say something?” he asks.

“Of course,” Aurora says, taking a sip of her wine.

Joseph looks really nervous, and Rosa and Balthazar exchange a look. Joseph usually isn’t one for nervousness, not around the family. Theo doesn’t notice until Genevieve elbows him in the side, and he glares at her before focusing his attention on Joseph.

“I just have something to tell you,” he says, “but it’s also a request at the same time.” Balthazar’s father nods his head and motions for Joseph to continue. “Alright, well, for starters—I would prefer if you guys started calling me Jo.”

“Jo,” their mother repeats, and then smiles. “It’s lovely.”

Jo nods, giving a weak smile in return, and then takes a deep breath. “And another thing. I would, uh, prefer to be referred to as a she.”

There’s complete silence at the table, and the only thing heard is the clattering of the utensils on the plate as their father drops them. Jo looks extremely nervous, and then their mother says, “Oh, sweetie,” and rushes up to go hug Jo.

Their dad gets up too, saying, “I’m so proud of you, Jo,” and hugs them both tight. Rosa and Balthazar get up, moving over to hug them.

Theo and Genevieve will not be excluded from the hug, so they jump up and enter the Jones family group hug. When they pull away, some minutes later, the relieved tears on Jo’s face have mostly dried. Balthazar says, “I’m so glad I have two older sisters,” and Jo punches him in the arm playfully.

After dinner, Balthazar makes his way to Jo’s room. Jo is on the computer, but she closes it and smiles when he comes in. “Hey,” she says.

“That was awesome,” Balthazar says as he sits down on the bed. “We really are proud of you.”

Jo knocks her shoulder against Balthazar’s shoulder, smiling a bit. “I was tired of hiding it, you know? Mom and Dad always preached about being who you are and never hiding, and I just . . . god, I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“I know what you mean,” Balthazar says. When Jo raises her eyebrows at him, Balthazar says, “I’m gay.”

Jo snorts. “Everyone knows that, Balth.”

“You mean Mom and Dad told you when I told Dad.”

Jo laughs. “Yes, but it was obvious either way. No offense or anything.”

“None taken.” Balthazar sighs. “Here I thought that I was admitting a secret of mine to you, in sibling comfort, and it didn’t even work.”

“I’m sure you have something.”

Balthazar considers, then says, “This isn’t exactly a secret, but . . . There’s this guy at my school. I kinda like him.”

“Kinda like him?” Jo teases.

“Whatever, he’s—”

A voice from the doorway interrupts them. “I cannot _believe_ ,” Rosa says, “that you two are talking boys without me.” Jo rolls her eyes and waves Rosa in, so Rosa hops down on the bed next to Balthazar. “Anyways, you were saying,” Rosa says.

“I was only gonna say it’s not, like, a huge thing,” Balthazar says, picking at his jeans. He’s always open with his siblings, he always has been, but it’s a little weird, now, because he’s not exactly used to opening up to his friends. Balthazar grins as he thinks about Pedro. “Besides, he’s got a mullet.”

Jo bursts into laughter. “No, no. You cannot like a boy with a _mullet_ of all things. What horrible taste.”

Rosa is laughing into her hand. “I honestly think this says more about Balthazar’s bad taste than mullet boy’s if Balth actually likes him.”

Balthazar rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “You guys are horrible, I swear,” but they’re all dissolving into giggles.

“Jo,” Rosa says once the giggles have died down, “how did you know?”

Jo raises an eyebrow. “About myself?” Rosa nods. “I just . . . It took the entirely of my high school years to accept the fact that, hey, you know, I don’t really like being called _he_. Or Joseph, for that matter. It was really hard, there was so much questioning and self-esteem issues running around inside of me . . . Getting to uni just made it a lot easier. I didn’t know anyone, and there were support groups that I could talk with, and I finally felt comfortable with myself.” She fidgets. “I hope everyone is alright with it. I mean, I know Mom and Dad are, and on some level I knew you guys would be, too. But I was really worried that Gen and Theo would take is badly, that they wouldn’t accept me as their sibling anymore.”

“Of course we do,” Balthazar says, taking her hand. “Gen and Theo, they understand, and they love you. We all do.”

Rosa is crying, and she leans forward to hug Jo. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispers.

\--

Balthazar’s crush on Pedro doesn’t go away.

“You know who is really attractive?” Claudio says, sitting down in the table next to Ben.  

“If you’re going to say yourself, please don’t,” Pedro says, not even taking his eyes off of the book he’s reading. Balthazar can understand—so far, year 10 has just been hectic. He can’t even imagine a couple more years of high school, and then another couple years for uni—

“Shut the fuck up,” Claudio says, glaring at Pedro a little, even though Pedro isn’t exactly wrong. Balthazar can tell, objectively, that Claudio has gotten more attractive over the years. “I was going to say Hero Duke.”

Ben does this weird thing that he always does anytime the name _Duke_ is mentioned, which is twitching his eyebrows and saying, “Ah, those Dukes,” as if they even remember why the Dukes are “those Dukes” in his book anymore—Balthazar only knows a little of the history behind it.

“Anyways,” Claudio says, giving Ben a look. “I saw her at her locker today, and she’s pretty hot.”

Pedro adds on, “Yeah, I agree,” and Balthazar kind of hates how his stomach twists.

“She’s really nice,” Balthazar says, trying not to sound so disapproving. Ben calls it his mother voice. “She’s smart, and good at playing instruments, and always nice to everyone.”

“How would you know?” Claudio asks.

Balthazar rolls his eyes. “Maybe because I have some classes with her?”

“Aww, have a crush?” Pedro teases, leaning over his chair.

“ _No_ ,” Balthazar replies, trying to keep his temper from flaring. “But I actually know and talk to Hero, and hearing her reduced to how hot she is makes me upset.” Hero isn’t as interested in music as Balthazar is, but from what he’s heard in his music class, she’s _good_. She’s patient, and she wouldn’t say anything horrible about anyone—Balthazar hasn’t heard her gossip at all. She’s one of the only people who understands Balthazar’s sexuality, because of her parents, and Balthazar enjoys talking to her.

There’s a small silence, where Ben looks shocked and Pedro turns back to his book, uncomfortable, and then Claudio says, “I don’t understand why you’re so hung up on Hero since we’ve always talked about how hot girls are.”

“And it’s always bothered me then, too,” Balthazar snaps. He can feel Ben eyes going back and forth between them like they’re a fucking ping pong match. Pedro turns his body towards them again at the tone of Balthazar’s voice.

Balthazar almost can’t believe it’s _him_ causing the drama now.

“It’s because you were never interested in the girls we were talking about,” Claudio says, voice stiff. “Once you meet the right girl, you’ll understand.”

Balthazar grits his teeth. “That’s never going to fucking happen,” he says, “because I’m gay.”

Ben says, “ _What_ ,” and Pedro’s head whips so fast to look at him that Balth thinks he’s going to hurt something in his neck, the book forgotten on the table. For once, Claudio doesn’t know what to say. Balthazar glances around the room, making sure that no one else heard.

“Besides,” Balthazar says, nerves erupting in his stomach, “you shouldn’t speak about girls that way. Especially if you like them. I mean, who the fuck likes a girl and then says that shit about them?”

They kind of keep staring at him, and anxiety licks at Balthazar’s lungs. He’s sure they’re going to ditch him and never speak to him again. But then Ben says, “You know, for a moment there, I saw Rosa Jones shining through you.”

“Shut up,” Balthazar says, his voice coming out fond and shaky and relieved.

“You know, now that I think about it, it is kind of obvious,” Claudio says.

“It wasn’t obvious, or you wouldn’t have assumed that I like girls,” Balthazar says, still snappish.

Pedro snorts at that, giving Balthazar an amused glance. “Claudio, just stop talking.”

And the conversation turns from Claudio replying indignantly to Ben shushing him. They talk about the upcoming football game and Pedro returns to his book. That quickly. No one else in the class takes notice. For once, Balthazar is kind of glad to be ignored, because he needs a moment to himself.

\--

Jo’s words stick in Balthazar’s head for while: _Mom and Dad always preached about being who you are and never hiding, and I just . . . god, I couldn’t take it anymore._

Because that’s something that resonates inside Balthazar a lot.

It’s like with the gay thing—was he right to be open about it, because his parents never want him to hide, or should he keep it to himself, because that’s who he is? Staying true to himself would mean never really talking about it, but he also believes in what his parents say.

Or even arguments in general. His parents would want him to speak his mind, and whenever someone says something he disagrees with, his palms itch and he wants to open his mouth. But he’s also so fervently against confrontation, so he stays true to himself by keeping quiet. Arguing with Claudio had felt right, in defense of Hero, but that didn’t mean that causing drama felt good.

What, exactly, is the medium here? He doesn’t follow every single one of his parent’s rules, but he does believe in them. So what happens when stuff like this occurs—when two ideas he believes in clash with each other?

Some side always wins out. Whatever side it is, it leaves Balthazar with a bad taste in his mouth. It’s like he, _himself_ , can never win.

He decides to go the smartest person for advice, which is, of course, Rosa.

“I love questions like this,” Rosa says, grinning as she sits in her desk chair. Balthazar runs his hands over the quilt of her bed.

“Rosa Jones, my inner turmoil is not your playtoy,” he says.

“Alright, alright, but you have to admit this is one of the questions that is, like, fundamental to the core of human morality.”

“You’re thinking about Jaime Lannister, aren’t you? And his grey morality.”

“Don’t insult me,” Rosa says breezily, which means she definitely is.

“Can you give me advice, or am I stuck in a black hole of never ending Rosa-logic?”

Rosa throws a pen at him, and it hits him on the arm. Balthazar stifles a laugh. “Don’t be _rude_ ,” she says, and then, “Listen, if we’re quite honest, this isn’t about you trying to figure out what the best solution is, or the conflict of humanity when two core beliefs are pitted against each other.”

Balthazar frowns. “It’s not?”

“No, of course not. It’s about your own insecurity.”

Which, ouch. “Rosa, I really don’t think—”

“Of course you didn’t, which is why you came to me.” Rosa’s tone turns softer, her face more sympathetic. “Look. Take the speaking out one. You’re scared of the confrontation because you don’t like arguing, and you’re nervous about drama and people distancing themselves from you because of it. You don’t want people to dislike you for your opinion. Or you keep quiet, which makes you upset because you have opinions and you don’t like keeping them to yourself. You haven’t yet accepted that you’re not always gonna be happy with your own decisions, aka, you’re insecure.”

Balthazar may or may not be staring at his sister with an open mouth.

Rosa smiles. “You gotta get comfortable with yourself, little bro. You have to accept that you’re gonna fuck up and regret shit. It’s a part of life.”

Balthazar groans and falls back on the bed, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

“I know, I know,” Rosa says. “Being an adult sucks.”

\--

Year Eleven is where things some things change. On the first day, as he’s walking with Ben out of their math class, they just continue walking until they’re sitting at the table together. After that, Balthazar is a regular appearance in Ben, Claudio, and Pedro’s lives, smoothing out the sharp points of a triangle to make them an even four. He realizes they accept him, wholeheartedly, and Balthazar feels some panic sort of leave him.

He hangs out with Ben, Claudio, and Pedro more so than usual that year, since they sort of enveloped him. They invite him over to their houses, ask if he wants to hang out at the games or after school, and Balthazar remembers seeing these kind of groups when he was in intermediate school.

They’re older, but they’re still the same dorky kids, really. Their conversations could be talking about sex or the upcoming Fife and the Drums album or if the tire swing over at the park can hold all of their weight (it can).

“You know what I wish for?” Ben says. They’re in the middle of a Lord of the Rings marathon, and they’ve paused it as they wait for Pedro to come back with the popcorn. “Snow. Remember the Magical Auckland Snowfall of 2011?”

Claudio nods, grinning. “I smoked you two in that snowball fight.”

“I want it to happen again. What’s the point of break in winter if it’s not properly winter?”

“Probably because we live near Hell itself,” Balthazar says.

“Known as Australia,” Pedro says as he walks back into the living room, placing the popcorn bowl in the middle. Claudio and Balthazar laugh.

“Yeah, but,” Ben says, voice getting muffled as he stuffs popcorn into the mouth, “aren’t we close to Antarctica as well? Why should we get the Australian short stick? Or hot stick?”

Pedro sighs. “I can’t deal with Benedick Hobbes philosophical questions at 12:30 in the morning. Play the movie.”

\--

There’s one thing that Balthazar knows for sure about his father, and it’s that he’s one of the greatest piano players that Balthazar knows. And Balthazar can pinpoint exactly when his father is playing, because by now, he’s heard it so much that it’s become second nature to think, _oh, Dad’s at the piano again._

So that’s how he knows that whoever is playing the piano downstairs is _not_ his father.

Curious, Balthazar makes his way downstairs, listening as the piano player hits the wrong key. The small mistake makes Balthazar’s mouth quirk into a smile, almost laughing, but he doesn’t. When he finally reaches the living room, his father is standing by the piano, watching a boy Balthazar’s age play on his piano.

Balthazar is, admittedly, a little shocked.

The boy notices Balthazar first, offering him a smile. Balthazar’s father turns around. “Oh, hey, kid,” he says. “This is Damian—John and Emily are his parents, do you remember them? The Sheridans’?”

“Oh, yeah,” Balthazar says.

“Well, they asked if I would help Damian refine his piano playing, so I said yes,” his father says.

Balthazar doesn’t exactly know what to say, so he just tells Damian, “Well, Dad’s a great player, so you’ll be great in no time.” Damian’s eyebrows raise, so Balthazar corrects, “Well, not that you’re horrible now, just—” He sighs when he sees that Damian is smiling. “I’m going to get something to drink,” Balthazar says. “Would anyone else like anything?”

Balthazar’s father declines, but Damian says some water. Balthazar nods and goes into the kitchen, cursing himself for being incredibly stupid.

He gives Damian the water, nodding politely when Damian smiles. Balthazar notices that Damian has slightly crooked teeth, but his smile is still rather nice. And his eyes are all brown and soft, like his hair.

Balthazar’s stomach crawls as he heads up the stairs, sure that he’s not going to come back down until he’s positive that Damian is gone.

But he knows that Damian is going to be back many more times, and he’s not sure whether the feeling in his stomach is excitement or dread.

\--

“You’re—no, no, that last key was an A.” Balthazar points to the music sheet. “Right there, you skipped that note.”

Damian sighs, his fingers slumping on the keyboards. It lets out a loud noise, one full of random pitches. “I’m never going to get this.”

“You can—I got this one when I was seven, and my fingers weren’t as nearly as long as yours. Now, again—many of this is just repetition, so remember, start on F—”

“Not all of us are musical prodigies like you,” Damian argues, nudging Balthazar with his shoulder. Damian is a bit stronger than Balthazar, and they’re sitting close together, so Balthazar has to grab the piano to keep from falling.

“Shut up,” Balthazar says, rather flattered. “Besides, look at your hands. I can play piano because I’ve taught myself by now. But you, you have true piano hands.”

“True piano hands?” Damian repeats, laughing. “What the fuck are those?”

Balthazar grabs Damian’s hands, points to his fingers. “Your fingers are long, they can reach farther keys. Trust me, playing some piano pieces will be so much easier for you.” Balthazar turns their hands and presses them flat against each other, so show how much longer Damian’s fingers are. Damian’s fingers are about half an inch longer than Balthazar’s, which is a lot for piano playing. Balthazar says, “See?” Only when he looks up, Damian is looking at Balthazar, not their fingers.

Balthazar can feel himself flush and curses himself. “Practice,” he blurts out, almost snatching his hand away. “That’s the only other reason I’m a musical prodigy. I have an electric piano in my room, so I practice there, as well as this piano. Whenever I was bored, I would practice.” He hates that he’s still blushing, and that Damian is still looking at him, so he taps a piano key—a G—and says, “Go again.”

His father comes back during Damian’s third attempt, and when he hears the song, he smiles. He laughs when he sees Balthazar sitting on the bench with Damian. “Ah, that makes sense,” he says. “[Prelude to C](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PXMVkQ70I88) has always been one of Balthazar’s favorites.”

Damian looks to Balthazar. “That’s your favorite?” he asks, a smile beginning to show.

Balthazar really wishes his father would stop embarrassing him. “It was the first one I learned to play,” he says, hoping his embarrassment doesn’t show.

“Courtesy of yours truly,” Balthazar’s father says. Then, to Damian, “I’m sorry I’m so late.”

“Oh, it’s fine, Mr. Jones,” Damian says. “I still got practice time.” He smiles at Balthazar, his eyes warm, and Balthazar takes that as his cue to leave before _someone_ figures out the thing between him and Damian.

“Please, Damian, call me Montgomery,” Balthazar’s father says, and Balthazar waves at them both goodbye.

As he’s fleeing into the hall at the top of the stairs, he runs straight into Rosa and Theo. “What are you doing here?” he asks, flustered.

“Nothing,” Rosa says, a smirk forming on her face. “Just watching you and _Damian_.”

He can feel his face flush again. “Shut up.”

Rosa’s smirk turns into a grin. “Oh, _Damian_ ,” she says dramatically, like Balthazar lives in the eighteenth century, “I just _swoon_ at your perfect piano-sized hands.” Theo laughs, taking Rosa’s hand and pressing it together like he had with Damian.

“Oh my _god_ , Rosa, I wasn’t like _that_ ,” says Balthazar, pushing past them to hide away in his room.

Rosa, of course, follows him. “And, oh, Damian, to show you how _perfect_ your perfect piano-sizes hands are, I just have to place mine right up against yours.”

“Rosa, shut up.” Balthazar reaches his door and a truly terrifying thought crosses his mind. He turns around and says, “You can’t tell Jo.”

Theo snorts. “Rosa already snapchatted her,” he says, and Balthazar groans.

Rosa’s smile is absolutely wicked. “I just got the moment where you touched hands,” Rosa says. “Jo said it was very Tarzan and Jane.”

“I hate you all,” Balthazar says, and slams the door to Rosa’s laughter.

Jo has already texted Balthazar when he checks his phone: _so, who’s damien????_

 _damiAn_ , Balthazar replies. _and no one. rosa is a liar!!!_

 _the map never lies_ , Jo says, _or snapchat in this case_ , and Balthazar laughs.

 _you and rosa and theo are horrible_ , Balthazar texts.

Jo only says, _at least damiAn doesn’t have a mullet._

Balthazar throws his phone on the bed, but he’s grinning.

\--

In a strange parallel of what happened with Damian, Hero cannot seem to play her piano piece correctly. Balthazar recognizes the tune immediately when he walks into the music room—it’s Beethoven’s [Moonlight Sonata](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Tr0otuiQuU)—but every couple of cords, Hero stumbles. She braves through despite it, but it doesn’t quite have the same smoothness.

Balthazar drops his bag in his chair and walks over to her, sitting down on the bench. Hereo glances at him, giving a small, humble smile. “I know, I keep messing up. My fingers just don’t want to cooperate.”

“It’s still beautiful, just not as smooth,” Balthazar says. “And it’s all repetition, with just a few key changes.”

“Key changes? Was that a piano joke?” she asks.

“No, but it _should_ have been,” he says, laughing. “Play it again.”

He leaves her be, listening to the quiet stumbles of her playing before the rest of the class comes in. Music class has always been one of his favorite classes, one that he excelled in, but not because he played the instruments he already knew. Their music teacher had a range of instruments, and Balthazar had tried many of them out. Balthazar was just a musical person in general—it didn’t matter what instrument.

He grabs the ukulele, because of any instrument, he is still best at the ukulele. He listens to Hero’s playing, getting the beat and rhythm down, before strumming the ukulele to the tune of the Moonlight Sonata. Hero stops, looking up at him, but he just says, “No, keep going.”

The Moonlight Sonata is really not meant to be played on a ukulele, that much can be said, because the piano and ukulele’s noise don’t match up that well. On the piano, the Moonlight Sonata is slow, drowsy, but on the ukulele is sounds upbeat. He and Hero laugh at it, and eventually Hero stops her playing.

“Sorry,” she says, “but I need to play for another class period, and my fingers already feel tired.”

“Ah, the plight of musicians,” he says, walking over to the drums. He picks one out and starts tapping on it, just listening to the sound, not really in the mood to be playing seriously.

“I don’t know how you do it, Balthazar,” Hero says. “You can play so many instruments, it blows my mind.”

“It’s because I was brainwashed at a young age,” he says, and Hero grins. “The young age bit more than the brainwashing,” he admits, shrugging and tapping his fingers against the edges of the drum. “My mother and father are both musical, so. And I just like learning new instruments.”

“How many can you play?”

“Oh, um . . .” Balthazar tries to count in his head. “Piano, ukulele, guitar, drums, and in class I’ve been trying out the violin and cello. But I wanna learn the mandolin.”

Hero says, “I’ve always liked the ukulele. It’s so small and cute.”

“I could teach you,” Balthazar offers. The bells rings, which makes them both pause.

“Really?” asks Hero. “You’d really teach me to play?”

“I’d love to.”

After class, they walk together and talk of when they can get together and play, whether or not Hero should get her own ukulele, and exchange phone numbers. At lunch, Pedro says, “My favorite thing right now is that Balthazar is already dating someone and he has more game than you do, Claudio.”

Claudio frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“Balthazar got Hero’s number.”

“ _What_?” Claudio stares at Balthazar in shock. “How did you manage that?”

“She wants to learn to play the ukulele,” Balthazar says, taking out his sandwich. “I offered to teach her.”

Claudio groans and says, “Fuck, I can’t do that.”

“I told you,” Ben says, clapping Claudio on the shoulder and leaning in close. “The chicks dig it.”

“Not that I care about that,” Balthazar says.

“It’s truly tragic,” Pedro says dryly.

“By the way, Balthazar, why haven’t we met your gent?” Ben asks.

“My _what_?”

“Damian,” Pedro says. Balthazar’s not exactly how good he feels about Pedro saying Damian’s name. “Why haven’t we, your best mates, met him?”

“Probably because he doesn’t go here and, surprise, you guys don’t know everyone,” Balthazar says. Ben looks unimpressed, so Balthazar continues, “And you guys probably won’t meet him. One, it’s not like you guys will ever meet him anywhere else, considering he doesn’t play football. And two, I don’t want you guys to meet him.”

“Why wouldn’t you want that?” Ben asks. “We’re fucking fantastic.”

“Last weekend you guys ran around the neighbourhood and midnight, wearing only your boxers and blankets tied around your necks as capes. I think I’ll pass him meeting you.”

“Hey! We had a lot of fun doing that,” Ben argues, almost looking truly offended. “We are great guys, and this guy—Damian, yeah?—he’d be so lucky to meet us.”

“I’ll keep my skepticism,” Balthazar says, laughing when Ben scoffs.

\--

Balthazar opens the door, raises his eyebrows in surprise, and then steps to the side to let Damian in. “You’re an hour early,” Balthazar says, closing the door behind him and watching as Damian drops his bag on the couch.

“I know,” Damian says. “I figured we could hang.”

“We could _hang_?” Balthazar says, imitating his voice.

Damian laughs. “Alright, I have ulterior motives. I kinda wanted to see the house more.”

Balthazar narrows his eyes, and he’s even more suspicious when Damian takes his hand. “You’ve seen the house,” he says.

Damian rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, the living room, the kitchen, and the bathroom, sure. But not anything else.”

“And what else would you possibly need to see?” Balthazar asks, smiling at him.

Damian groans, pulling on Balthazar hands and leading him over to the staircase. “I don’t know where your room is,” he says, as Balthazar laughs, “but I know it’s up here.” Balthazar doesn’t point him in the right direction, and Damian squeezes his hand. “You could help me, you know. Or you could continue being the worst boyfriend ever.”

“I’ll stick with the latter,” Balthazar says, grinning.

Damian eventually finds the room, after poking into a bathroom and then Rosa’s room, and he comments, “No one else is here, then?”

“Rosa has debate team, Mom’s at work, Dad’s on the way back,” Balthazar says. “To be honest I have no fucking idea where the twins are.”

“Convenient.”

“Isn’t it?”

Damian makes a victorious noise when he enters Balthazar’s room, and he pulls Balthazar in, closing the door behind them with his foot.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” Damian says.

“I can’t believe you needed to be in my room to do that,” Balthazar says, but he’s smiling when Damian kisses him.

\--

Rosa is one of the most organized people Balthazar has ever met—she’s even tried to organize Balthazar’s stuff, until he told her, laughing, “Rosa, _stop_ ”—and so it really doesn’t surprise him that Rosa brings out a binder.

Their father touches the cover warily. “What is this?”

“My plans,” Rosa says, sitting up straight in her chair. Her eyes travel between their mom and dad, and when her eyes reach Balthazar, he gives her a nod of encouragement. “You asked me, since this is my last year, what I wanted to do for university. And my answer is that I don’t want to go just yet. I want to travel the world.

Balthazar’s father raises his eyebrows, dubious, and his mother’s mouth presses into a firm line.

Rosa doesn’t deflate, only pushes forward, because Rosa Jones doesn’t quit. “You let Jo go to any university she wanted,” Rosa says, her tone something fierce. “We go to university to prepare us for the world. What better prepares me for the world than literally going out and _seeing_ the world?” Rosa taps the binder. “It’s all in here, places I could go, where I would stay, how I would get there. Routes I could take, whichever countries I’d want to visit. I know how to save and spend money accordingly, and you know I can protect myself. There’s really no reason why I shouldn’t be able to.”

Their parents exchange a look, one that’s almost exasperated and fond, one that says, _oh, Rosa Jones._ “We’ll take a look over this binder,” Aurora says, and Rosa doesn’t jump in her seat from excitement. The most telling sign is the small curl of her lips, a curl that might signify victory. Balthazar coughs to hid a laugh.

“And then we’ll have to have a long talk with you,” their father says. “You may have researched this a lot, but it still doesn’t mean you’re experienced.”

Rosa nods. “Of course. I’ll—thank you, Mom, Dad. Seriously, that you’re even considering—thank you, _thank_ you.”

“Can we visit wherever you go?” Genevieve cuts in. “I’ve always wanted to go to Paris, or maybe Berlin.”

“Yeah, can we go?” Thero says.

“Absolutely not,” Aurora says, but she’s smiling. “Now, Rosa, go help your brother clean up dinner. Theo, Gen, I believe you two promised to clean up the living room?” Theo and Gen groan, handing over their plates to Rosa and Balthazar before leaving.

Balthazar waits until he and Rosa are alone, his arms dunked elbow-deep in dirty dishwater, to talk to her. “You really want to leave?” he asks, handing her a plate.

Rosa’s expression twitches into a small expression of exasperation. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know. I guess I always saw Rosa Jones, the academic, before I saw Rosa Jones, international adventurer.” Balthazar scrubs at a spoon. “You’ve obviously been thinking about this for a while.”

“Of course. I couldn’t just offer this up to Mom and Dad without something substantial,” Rosa says.

“No, I meant—” Balthazar wipes at his forehead and smiles gratefully at Rosa when she wipes away the bubbles he leaves there. “I guess I was surprised you never told me about it.”

Rosa takes a rather long time to dry that particular dish, but Balthazar waits until she’s ready to talk. “It wasn’t that,” she says. “I just didn’t want you to think I was leaving you.”

Balthazar lets out a short laugh. “Rosa, whether you were going to uni or traveling the world, you were going to leave us.”

“I know,” Rosa says with a sigh. “But uni feels closer, especially to family, and it gives the impression that you might be coming _back_. Traveling the world, not so much.”

Balthazar doesn’t say anything, trying to pick apart the feelings inside of him, if he’s bitter or happy for her. There are only a couple more dishes left, so Balthazar quickly soaps up the sponge and washes them, thinking about all the places that exist in the world. Balthazar hands the last dish to Rosa—a cup that says _World’s Most Musical Parent_ , jokingly given to their parents on Christmas because either of them could pick it up and it would fit—and rinses out the sponge.

When Rosa has put the last dish in the cupboard, she says, “Balthazar, don’t be mad.”

The brusque way she says it, as though if Balthazar were mad (he’s not), he doesn’t have the right to be, pisses him off. “I’m not,” he says, but _now_ he’s pissed and it comes out snappish, so of course Rosa doesn’t believe him.

“Seriously. It’s not that—”

“Did you tell Jo?”

Rosa sighs, looking to the side for a moment. “Balth.”

“Did you tell Jo?” he repeats, but he knows she did.

“Yes, I did, and you’re not going to make me regret it,” Rosa says, crossing her arms. “Jo understands what it’s like to want to get away from here, she understands what it’s like to be away. So, to ask for her advice, yes, I had to tell her. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“And, what? I wouldn’t understand? I can’t comprehend that?”

“Don’t be like that, Balthazar, it’s not like you,” Rosa snaps. “And for advice about wanting to get away? No, you wouldn’t understand. You’d rather hole up in your room than push out of it, let alone go exploring the world.”

Balthazar stands there, trying to school his hurt expression, but it must show anyways because Rosa sighs. “Don’t,” Balthazar cuts in. “I don’t need your explanations right now.” He pushes past her and heads up into his room, slamming the door behind him. Then he wonders if he just proved her point, in a way, and rubs his hands over his face.

Rosa Jones, world explorer, he thinks.

And then it hits him: he’s not mad because she’s leaving, he’s upset because she couldn’t talk to him about it even in passing, he’s upset because he never expected it. And it feels like he didn’t really know his sister at all.

\--

Balthazar had been nervous about the date with Damian, considering that they hadn’t been able to see each other for a while—Damian’s lessons with Balthazar’s father had ended two months ago, and they found it harder to meet than before. They’d finally arranged a night where they could meet and have dinner at this small restaurant that they both liked.

Balthazar had been nervous about the date before, considering it had been so long since they’d seen each other in person, but now that Damian is quiet and reserved, Balthazar feels even more nervous.

He usually doesn’t feel this nervous around Damian.

“Rosa sent me pictures from France yesterday,” Balthazar says, trying to prompt Damian into conversation again. So far, what hadn’t worked is: discussions of how Damian’s music was progressing, Balthazar’s music career, Damian’s upcoming birthday, how fast Year Twelve is coming up, but nothing is working.

“France?” Damian’s eyebrows draw together. “Wasn’t she just in Germany?”

“She was two weeks ago,” Balthazar says. “I told you the last time we talked that she was going to France.” Damian just nodded, moving some of his pasta around without enthusiasm. Balthazar’s stomach had been crawling earlier, which is why he hadn’t eaten much, but how it feels even worse. “Do you want to see pictures?” Balthazar asks tentatively.

He wonders if you’re supposed to be this doubtful of yourself when you’re in a relationship.

Damian nods, passing a hand over his mouth, and takes Balthazar’s phone when Balthazar offers it. He goes through some of the pictures, flicking through them quickly, before handing the phone back.

Balthazar puts the phone down. “Look, is something wrong?” He’s been wanting to ask that for a while, but he’s been putting it off. He didn’t want to make an argument out of nothing, and he didn’t want to cause more tension between them than there already was.

Damian says, “There’s nothing wrong.”

He almost manages to make it convincing, too.

“Do you want to try that again,” Balthazar says, keeping his temper down, “without lying, maybe?”

Damian sighs and scrubs his hands over his face. Balthazar feels like he’s going to combust with nerves, his hand clenching and unclenching on his leg.

“It’s just weird,” Damian says. “It feels like . . . you’re so distant, sort of. Like I don’t really . . .”

Balthazar waits for Damian to continue, and when he doesn’t, Balthazar presses, “You don’t really _what_?”

“Like I don’t really know you anymore,” Damian says, and Balthazar straightens, his stomach churning. His mind is flying in a bunch of different directions, and Damian just keeps talking and talking.

“Damian,” Balthazar interrupts, feeling strangely disconnected from himself, “the whole point of this dinner was to see each other, because we haven’t talked—”

“No—it’s not because we’re distant, of course we’re distant,” Damian says. “I just think you are being distant, like you’re not even here with me.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“Like . . . like, you can deny it, but I know you like some guy in your friend group, and you don’t open up as much . . .”

Balthazar stares at Damian in shock, because there’s no way that Damian could have known that—Balthazar purposefully made sure that his friends and Damian wouldn’t meet because of this—and then realization of what Damian is doing hits him.

“So what it is, Damian?” Balthazar asks, clenching his fist again. “Is it because I’m too distant, or is it because I like someone else?”

Damian frowns a little. “It’s—they intersect, sort of—”

“Don’t even try,” Balthazar says, and his entire body is nerves, lighting up. His palms are sweating and his voice is shaky. “You’re just grasping for any excuse to break up with me,” Balthazar says. “Should I have made it easier for you? Should I have cheated on you, so you’d be justified in doing it? Or—or should I have lied to you constantly so you’d have a reason?” Balthazar feels sick to his stomach. “Save yourself the trouble. We’re over.”

“What?” Damian asks, grasping at the edge of the table.

Maybe Balthazar will throw up—he feels dizzy, lightheaded, and like he’s going to throw up at any moment. Did he really just break up with Damian? “It’s, what, fine if you break up with me, but if I break up with you, suddenly it’s all bad?” Balthazar exclaims. “You were all willing to put the blame on me— _I_ was distant, _I_ liked someone else—and just . . . Damian, you could have said, I would have . . .” Balthazar can’t explain the heartbreak that he’s feeling, how he has to stop talking before something disastrous happens.

Balthazar sits down. “Oh, God.”

“I’m sorry,” Damian says, voice small. “I was trying . . . I really like you, Balthazar, but I just . . . I was trying to make it as light as possible.”

“I really like you, too,” Balthazar says, “and that’s why this could never have been light.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on Damian’s face, but also the ghost of a frown. It’s like Damian’s face can’t decide which expression to show. “I am sorry. Really, Balthazar.”

Balthazar leans back in his chair and presses his hands to his face. “Yeah. I’m really sorry too.”

\--

Balthazar doesn’t get out of bed until late in the afternoon, hesitant to move out of the warmth of the blankets. It’s a rainy day, and the house feels frozen over, his bed providing a shield. The sound of a piano keys playing can be heard faintly through the pounding of the rain on the window, and Balthazar follows the noise to the living room, where his father was playing. His mother is sitting right beside him on the piano bench, holding up a phone in front of her.

When Balthazar hits the last step, he asks, “Is it Rosa or Jo?”

“It’s Rosa, dear,” his mother says, turning around to smile at him. As he gets closer, he can just see Rosa’s face on his mother’s phone. Balthazar waves as he passes, heading to the kitchen to get something to eat, and comes back into the room, eating some cereal, while his mother chatters onto Rosa about new things happening.

After a moment of telling Rosa about Jo’s latest art show, his mother turns to Balthazar. “Oh, Balth, come talk to your sister,” she says, waving him over. Balthazar shrugs, coming forward with his cereal, and is grateful that his mother tilts the phone screen upwards instead of making him squat.

“Anything new with you, Balth?” asks Rosa. She’s in Canada right now, and it’s nearing night time. He doesn’t remember the last time he talked to her—more like he doesn’t remember the last country she was in when they talked—but she only calls when she has enough time to sit down and talk. Otherwise she sends pictures, posts stuff online, or sends a text to the entire family.

“Not really.”

“Oh, that’s a lie,” Rosa says. “There must be something!”

“There’s really nothing much to do,” Balthazar says. “I’m sure tales of Year 12 aren’t nearly as exciting as discovering the world.”

His parents chuckle, and Rosa lets out a little laugh. “Stop being a party pooper,” Rosa says.

Balthazar has always hated being called that—just because he insists on doing something he likes, or insists on not doing something he doesn’t like, doesn’t make him a party pooper—but he rolls his eyes and agrees for his sister’s sake. “Well, Year 12 is pretty much laden with work, but I get the occasional day off,” he says. “I’ve been thinking about performing more, which is cool, I guess. Last year for the talent show, Ben wanted to do a comedy routine with the boys, and he needed funny background music, so I just sat there and played on cue. It was great and not as scary as I thought, considering it was in front of the whole school. And so I might do that, although the thought of messing up the lyrics on stage terrifies me.”

Rosa smiles. “Maybe if you did an original song it would be better? Because no one knows that you’re messing up.”

Balthazar laughs. “Thanks for the idea, Rosa.”

“How is Ben, by the way? Still annoying as ever?”

“Oh, Rosa, leave Ben alone,” Aurora says fondly. Balthazar’s father laughs.

“He’s fine,” Balthazar says, good-naturedly. “Very excited about life, as usual.”

“And everyone else? How’s Damian?” Rosa must notice the entire Jones family wince on all their faces, because she says, “Oh, what? What did I miss?”

“We broke up,” Balthazar says, pushing some of his soggy cereal around with his spoon.

“What? When?”

“It was months ago, Rosa, there’s no need to worry.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Balth,” Rosa says. “Is Mullet boy still in the picture?”

“ _Mullet_ Boy?” Balthazar’s father asks, right as Aurora says, “Who is that?”

“No one,” Balthazar says, glaring at Rosa through the screen. “And he’s fine, yes, he’s perfectly fine. Ben is excited about life, Claudio and Pedro are excited about the football, and Hero is excited because her cousin Beatrice is coming to stay with her next year.”

Rosa laughs. “Alright, alright, I get it. Talking to your sister is such a hardship.”

“Love you, Rosa Jones.”

“Love you too, Balthazar.”

Balthazar leaves her to talk to her parents again, moving into the kitchen to clean up his bowl, and thinks about how it seemed so long ago that she would be helping him do the dishes too. He hangs up his bowl on the rack and walks back into the living room, noticing his parents leaning on each other at the piano bench. This phone is lying flat on the top of the piano, so Balthazar assumes that Rosa had to leave.

“Is everything okay?” Balthazar asks.

His mom sighs, standing up from the bench. “Oh, Balthazar,” she says, enveloping him in a hug. He can feel a certain sadness around her. “You don’t understand how hard it is to let your children go,” she says, pulling away from the hug but keeping one arm wrapped around his waist. “Jojo is away now, and all we have left of her are some phone calls and a painting.” They have a beautiful sunset painted by Jo hanging in the living room, bought at one of her art shows. “All we have left of Rosa are pictures of her adventures. Soon all we’ll have left of you is your music online, and all we’ll have left of the twins are sports trophies.”

His father starts playing [a tune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8g39ZngxgRI) on the piano, one that’s pensive and sad, the rain outside suddenly fitting for the occasion.

His mother smiles, looking tired, and starts singing, voice scratchy from trying not to cry, “And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon. Little boy blue and the man on the moon.” She cards her fingers through Balthazar’s hair when she sings _little boy blue_. “When you coming home, son? I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then, Dad. You know we’ll have a good time then.”

\--

Little did any of them know, but Beatrice Duke was not only all the words Hero used to described her—wonderful, loud, sunshine, outspoken, argumentative—but also a catalyst.

Balthazar isn’t quite sure when she became a catalyst—possibly, he thinks, in March, when she uploaded a simple video beginning with, “Hello, people of the internet! I’m Beatrice.”

Or maybe what made their entire friend group spiral out of control and into a blackhole of drama and misinterpretations and horrible fights was more than just Beatrice Duke. Maybe it started with this:

Ben slams his backpack down on the table and hisses, “She’s an absolute witch!”

Claudio is stunningly absent, so it’s up to Pedro to say, “What? Who?”

“Who else? Beatrice Duke, of course. She is possibly the most argumentative person I know, and yes, I’m including Rosa Jones, Balthazar. She’s just the most infuriating person on this planet!” Ben runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further.

Pedro and Balthazar exchange a glance. “It’s just the first day,” Pedro says, his voice taking on a reassuring tone. “I’m sure she’ll get better.”

The look Ben sends Pedro makes Balthazar laugh. “You obviously haven’t had a decent conversation with her,” Ben says stiffly.

Balthazar says, “From the way steam is coming out of your ears, I’d say you haven’t either.”

Pedro snorts, covering his mouth with his hand, laughing even harder when Ben glares at the both of them.

“You two watch,” Ben says, ripping open his lunch bag, “Beatrice Duke is gonna affect all of us.”

Or maybe it’s:

Balthazar likes the kids in the music class, but it’s a bit weird to be the oldest there. He’s been used to his friends always being older, but now he’s making friends with kids younger than him, less experienced in instruments than him—he quickly gains a reputation for knowing more instruments than anyone there—and yet also excited to learn. He, Hero, and a couple other kids in their grades help the kids along and lead the class in playing.

He’s surprised, one day, that as he and Hero leave the class, Claudio is waiting right outside. “Oh, is it alright if we talk for a moment?” asks Hero, and Balthazar nods, watching, for a moment, how close they stand together.

Or maybe:

“I can’t fucking wait to get out of here,” Pedro says, leaning his shoulder against the lockers. He looks frustrated and rushed, and he was two minutes from being late to school.

“Are you okay?” Balthazar asks, glancing at the books almost spilling out of Pedro’s arms.

“Oh, I’m fucking fantastic.” At Balthazar’s questioning look, Pedro says, “It’s John. We were almost late today because he started going off on me this morning. I swear he’s acting up more and more every fucking day, and he antagonizes me for no reason.”

“Are you sure it’s no reason?”

Pedro huffs, considering. “Maybe some of them, but even then, it feels like he’s blowing things out of proportion. He’s going through those teenage years.”

“Says the teenager.”

“Are you going to sympathize with me or not, damn it?”  

Balthazar laughs. “Alright, alright, Pedro Donaldson is always right and never to blame.”

“All around great guy, remember?”

“One day, that won’t work for you anymore,” Balthazar says with a shake of his head.

He closes his locker after the bell rings, and walks with Pedro down the hall, as they’re headed in the same direction.

Balthazar was just noticing how nice Pedro looked—and consequently, how horrible it was to have a crush on Pedro Donaldson—when Pedro said, “So, what do you think about Beatrice? She’s something, isn’t she?”

Or maybe, just simply, it’s the increase in the use of cameras.

\--

Balthazar actually does like Beatrice, quite a lot. She’s fiery and passionate and sweet at the same time, as if someone took Hero and, instead of making Hero always be nice, Beatrice is her counterpart, ready to fire off at anyone. She doesn’t really take shit from anyone, but is deeply caring about the people closest to her.

And while Ben absolutely cannot stand how confrontational she is, Balthazar actually likes it. He likes watching her argue with people, because she doesn’t back down until she’s pounded them down. She’s almost fearless about it, and Balthazar admires that, he recognizes that he has a fear of doing that himself.

He even likes Ben and Beatrice’s arguments—they’re rather funny themselves, especially seeing Ben get this worked up—and they become normal routine. Claudio does play by plays of their arguments, like a sports announcer, and they’re almost as funny as the arguments themselves. It all seems good-natured, despite Ben’s constant complaining, because their friend groups are always hanging out now, the mix between Hero, Meg, Beatrice, and Ursula with the four of them.

For the most part, Balthazar doesn’t notice the drama, besides the occasional information that Claudio or Pedro give him. Ben will be fuming at lunch, and Pedro will lean in close to Balthazar and tell him about the latest Ben-and-Bea-Argument. Balthazar continues to watch Claudio pick up Hero after music class, walking her to her locker and around the halls. He picks up watching Ben’s videos, when he can, and occasionally watches Bea’s, too. It all seems like good fun.

It all seems better when Hero and Claudio finally date.

They’re cute together, everyone says so, the most attractive couple at the school. They didn’t know that Hero could smile _more_ , and the guys never cease to make fun of Claudio for following her around like a puppy.

Claudio is the one to comment about Ben first, just casually says to Pedro, “You’d think with the amount of talking that Ben does about Beatrice that he likes her, not hates her,” and after that, the idea is permanently ingrained in their minds. Pedro and Claudio catch onto that, making snide comments to each other and Balthazar about it so Ben and Bea won’t hear—they are all under agreement that Bea could kill them if she found out.

Balthazar finds himself locked away working on university stuff. He never realized, before, how much university means to him. He spends most of his last year preparing, making sure his grades are good, making more and more music, practicing performing so that he can get better and do well at auditions, and focusing on getting through the qualifications. He’d never thought himself as someone who particularly wanted to escape, but he’s slowly realizing, he looks at universities, that he’s excited to leave. He, Ben, and Pedro talk about the university in Wellington as their top choice, while Claudio wants to stay in Auckland. Bea is still unsure, and Hero isn’t graduating yet, so she hasn’t even thought about making a decision yet.

Balthazar loves his family, but he’s also always been one for himself, and being separate from them sounds so relieving. Having a space for himself, a space without any expectations of who he’s supposed to be, sounds wonderful.

\--

He doesn’t really get the whole camera thing—Bea or Ursula usually have it, and Ben asks Balthazar once or twice if he wants to be in—but his friends seem to be fine with it. He participates in the one with Pedro and Claudio, and it releases a little bit of nerves in him. Surely, if he could sing for the sake of fun with his friends, he could do a serious video one day.

It first happens because Pedro has the camera when he comes over, and Balthazar had already been planning on doing a Sigh No More cover. Pedro asks him if it’s alright to film it, and Balthazar decides to let him. If Balthazar isn’t going to do it himself, might as well get Pedro to do it. It takes some of the responsibility that Balthazar has, the fear goes away.

If you can’t do it yourself, get someone else to do it.

An Ode is because of that, too. Pedro comes over after school one day—it happens a lot more lately, with Ben focused on his vlog and Claudio out with Hero. Theo’s on the couch when they walk in, and he jumps up excitedly. “Pedro!” he says.

“Hey, Theo.”

“I have a question—do you think you could help me in football? My couch says I need to refine my ballwork a little more, he says I could brush up on some skills. Could you? Help, I mean?” Theo says it all in a rush, and Balthazar has to cover a laugh at how bewildered Peter looks.

“Some other time, yeah?” Peter says. “We have to work on some homework right now.”

“Alright, cool!” Theo knocks his fist against Peter’s before flopping back down on the couch to play games on his phone.

As they’re walking up the stairs to Balthazar’s room, Peter says, “You know, it seems like every year a Jones leaves this house, and yet it’s never any less quiet.”

Balthazar laughs, telling him, “Theo and Gen were always the loudest anyways. And now that they’re teenagers, it’s at new levels.”

Pedro follows Balthazar into the room and says, “Yeah, John has been acting up too. I swear we weren’t like that when we were their age.”

“I’m pretty sure we were,” Balthazar says. “I can ask Rosa and Jo for reference.”

“Oh, god, no. I do not want to know what Rosa has to say about me.”

Balthazar gets his work done first, so he picks up his ukulele and starts picking at the strings lightly. Pedro had missed school the day before, so he has to make up some of his homework still. It kind of amazes Balthazar how Pedro’s mind just _gets_ it.

“Maths doesn’t confuse you?” Balthazar asks.

Pedro shrugs, working on another problem. “Whatever the teacher gives us, I get. Sometimes I have a hard time with the tough problems, but otherwise I’m fine.”

It must be nice, Balthazar thinks, to get subjects so easily, to be really good at sports, to be so well liked by your peers. Pedro thrives off it, he can see. “You’re lucky,” is all Balthazar says.

Pedro glances up at him, a smile lighting up his face when he says, “All around great guy.”

“Oh, god, shut up.”

“Don’t be like that, Balthazar, I know you love me,” Pedro says. “You could write a song about me.” Balthazar knows he’s joking, knows he’s saying that in a sarcastic way, but it still knocks the breath out of him for a good couple of seconds.  

“Don’t doubt me,” Balthazar says, keeping his voice neutral. There’s something stubborn in him that’s rising, something that actually wants to do it, write a song and shove it in Pedro’s face. “You know I can.”

Pedro raises his eyebrow, says, “Sure, go ahead,” and Balthazar takes that as a challenge.

He writes An Ode and posts the video, but Pedro doesn’t get it. Of course he doesn’t. Balthazar doesn’t know whether he’s angry or relieved about it, and then he’s just angry that he expected any reaction different than this.

Otherwise, he doesn’t get involved in the videos and the vlogging. With all the focus on university, on improving his grades, on his music, diverts his attention away from what his friends are doing. So he watches the videos of him singing, only sees a couple of videos afterwards, and then everything is exploding at Hero’s birthday party.

Almost quite literally.

\--

And as most explosions usually do, this one has an aftermath.

Balthazar wakes up with a range of texts, from Beatrice demanding to know where the boys were, the boys talking (arguing, it seems) in the group chat, Ben, Claudio, and Pedro all messaging him separately, and one single text from Jojo asking if he was available to Skype later.

As he’s trying to catch up on the group chat, scrolling through to get to the top, he notices a lot of mentions of “the video.” Balthazar frowns and gets out his computer, looking at any of his friend’s channels. He finally finds the video, not on Ben or Bea’s channel, but on Verges and Dogberry’s channel.

It’s of last night’s at Hero’s.

And it has a lot of views.

All the kids on social media are talking about it, apparently, and they’re taking sides. Balthazar hastily reads over the group chat, scanning for the important bits, and basically gets one main thing from it: everything is fucked.

Hero is heartbroken and quiet. After the first day back, where people give her looks and whisper about her not-quite-discreetly, it seems as though she hardly comes at all. Balthazar hardly sees her, and he has to ask about her health via Beatrice.

Beatrice is absolutely livid—if she had been argumentative before, nothing compares to now. It’s as though she’s on a warpath, sniffing out any person that is talking shit about Hero and yelling at them. She’s almost like a mother bear herself, protecting her cub, except that when the anger fades away, she’s just as heartbroken, unsure of exactly what to do. The anger fades away more, and she begins to doubt herself.

And of all the things that have flipped, Ben and Beatrice are actually getting along. Ben has fiercely stood his ground against Pedro and Claudio. Ben had come up to Balthazar, fuming about the two of them, and how could they be such bastards?

“They still haven’t changed their minds?” Balthazar asks, bewildered for a moment. Being mad after the night, maybe, sure, a stretch—but days afterwards?

Ben’s eyes widen. “You have no idea.”

And Pedro and Claudio are the opposite, sure in what Claudio has said, unrepentant about what happened, and unwilling to listen to any sort of reason.

It’s his worst nightmare.

After a couple more days, where Balthazar can’t focus in his math class because Pedro and Ben are ignoring each other—they are acting so childish that they are using Balthazar to speak to each other—that Balthazar decides to get involved.

He pulls Pedro aside, because he assumes that he’ll be able to get his message through to Pedro more than Claudio. Balthazar finds him at his locker, waits around for most of the hall to clear up.

“What’s up?” Pedro says, smiling. Balthazar has noticed how much Pedro has been smiling at him lately.

Balthazar cannot get his stomach to stop squirming, but he is stupid and irrational for these moments and gets involved. “I’m just wondering—about Hero, and all. And why you’re still defending Claudio.”

Pedro’s smile shutters. “What do you mean?”

“What else, Pedro?” Balthazar says. “You can’t really believe that Hero cheated on Claudio.”

“Of course I do.”

“Pedro,” Balthazar says, stepping closer. “I know Hero. _You_ , you know Hero. And we know that Hero would never do this, Pedro. She is not the type to cheat.”

Pedro closes his locker. “Saying that shit doesn’t make it true.” Balthazar sighs, but Pedro cuts in, “And I know Claudio and my brother, Balthazar. Claudio was certain, okay? My brother told us so. He was so sincere, Balthazar, and he really wanted to protect Claudio from something bad.” Of course, Balthazar should have seen it: if there’s anything that Pedro is, it’s loyal to his friends. And he will _stay_ loyal to Claudio and his brother, because it’s something that’s fundamental to him.

Balthazar pushes anyways. “So, what? Even if Claudio had been in the right, it’s somehow horrible for Claudio to experience the pain of being cheated on, but Hero has to be yelled at, on her birthday, in front of people and cameras and then have the entire ordeal uploaded onto the internet? She deserves to be sick and broken like this, talked about behind her back and hated at school, all because Claudio didn’t deserve some pain?”

Pedro doesn’t look at him, only looks at their shoes, his jaw clenched. Balthazar is suddenly aware that they’re very close, and very angry, and Balthazar practically yelled at him. “That video wasn’t—it shouldn’t have happened,” Pedro says, sounding uncomfortable. “I shouldn’t have wanted that. But—everything else, Balthazar—”

Balthazar steps away, feeling disappointment settle in his stomach. He shouldn’t feel it, really, because he shouldn’t place expectation on Pedro at all. But it’s there all the same.

“Right,” Balthazar says, because the fight has left him and he doesn’t know what else to say. “Just. Let Ben and I know when you’ve come to your sense, alright?”

Balthazar leaves before he says anything he really regrets, meeting his mother in the parking lot. She greets him happily, asking about his day, and he only lets out a frustrated groan in return.

“Oh, Balthazar, what’s wrong?” she asks.

“Friend drama like nobody’s business,” Balthazar says, pressing his hands to his face, as if trying to erase everything that’s happened. “I thought my friends were just good, you know, so much so that we didn’t have drama, but everything has fallen to shit and—” He sighs.

“How has Hero been doing?” his mother asks, because she has always loved the Dukes.

“She’s—not good. She’s not good, and Claudio and Pedro are being idiots and they can’t see that she’s not okay,” Balthazar says. “They can’t see that they’re the reason why!” He lets his hand fall and turns to his mother. “What do you do when your friends are at a complete disagreement with each other?” he asks. “What do you do when you want to do the right thing, but you don’t want to antagonize anyone else? What do you do when you like someone who’s clearly in the wrong—how do you continue liking someone after something so horrible?”

His mother sighs, throwing him a sympathetic look. “Balthazar, the problem here is you’re too much in the gray area. Even if you remain neutral, darling, you can’t win. To me, this sounds like a black and white situation. Something bad happened, and if some of your friends aren’t willing to recognize that—” His mother shrugs one shoulder. “You know what right and wrong is, Balthazar. It isn’t your job to make sure that everyone else makes the right decision, too, no matter if they’re your friend or your crush. People fuck up. The real problem is if they never acknowledge that what they did was wrong.”

Balthazar shuts his eyes, wishing he could curl up and sleep and ignore everything. “I just want it all to end,” he whispers.

“There’s only one way to get to the end,” his mother says, “and that’s to wait it out.”

It would be good advice, only the entire situation gets worse.

Because John goes missing, and Hero goes to the hospital, and then John uploads the video explaining it all.

\--

The thing about everything happening, and everything trying to resolve, is that it can’t happen immediately. Each person has to come to a conclusion themselves—each person has to find forgiveness, so they’re all on different pages. Ben and Bea have obviously found comfort in each other. Hero returns when they’re all meeting at the lake, and Balthazar hugs her tight. He had brought his guitar, because music is one of the only ways he knows how to comfort other people, and, in his opinion, the best way.

Hero and Claudio have a lot of shit to work out—they post the video saying that they’ve made up, have talked things out, but outside of the video they’re awkward, nervous, and usually avoid each other. Ben, Claudio, and Pedro have a lot of talking through to do—Ben seems to have forgiven them now that they recognized what they did wrong—but there’s still hesitancy, after such divides were between them. Pedro seems to be having some sort of identity crisis, which Balthazar can understand—for so many years, Pedro had been this great guy and everyone knew it, only now he proved that he wasn’t a great guy. And Pedro had so absolutely believed in protecting and being loyal to his brother that his brother hating him that much was an absolute shock. Balthazar guesses that they are going to have a long talk, since John has come back.

Balthazar is also under the impression that Pedro is undergoing a sexuality crisis, but since Pedro doesn’t approach him about it, Balthazar doesn’t interfere.

Except there’s one thing he knows: he should have expected this. Pedro takes Balthazar out of that room, and Beatrice interrupts them before they can talk. Balthazar is fine with it, really, maybe a little nervous, but then Pedro misses his gig the next day. Everything has been far too fragile, and Balthazar hates himself for being so disappointed and yet not at the same time, like he’s somehow desensitized to it all. And then the conversation they were supposed to have keeps getting pushed back, farther and farther, until exams have passed and it’s already break and it just can’t be brought up.

Balthazar should know by now, that Beatrice and Ben can get their happy ending but he just. He doesn’t. He wasn’t the hero in this story, nor the main character, he doesn’t get that happy ending that always comes at the end.

The Sheridan’s visit early that break, and Damian surprises him. He wouldn’t say that he got with Damian out of some rebound from not getting with Pedro, but he knows it’s out of some irrational, reckless part of him, and he breaks it off before it can get bad again. Damian isn’t bothered. He just smiles sadly and says, “Oh, Balthazar, you’re in the same situation I left you in, aren’t you?” and it would almost funny if it wasn’t so true. Damian leaves him with a smile on his face, presses a kiss to his cheek, and wishes him well in university.

But there’s another strangeness to his friends trying to find their way back to each  other: that even though they’re all trying to forgive each other and heal, they know they’re going to be separated in a couple of months. Ben, Pedro, and Balthazar have all gotten into the same university in Wellington, Beatrice and Meg are happy where they’re going, and Claudio is staying in Auckland like he wanted. They’re all going away, much sooner than expected, and suddenly they’re placing healing alongside nostalgia and reminiscing.

His parents take him out to dinner with Genevieve and Theo to celebrate, and they even go around in a circle telling him of their proudest moments of him. Jojo and Rosa had been called earlier to give their stories, and they must look rather weird, an entire family sitting at a table crying and smiling and laughing, but Balthazar wouldn’t have it any other way.

They throw one last party for their graduating class, which is far more emotional than Balthazar thought it would be. He and his friends ditch an hour into it, escaping back to the hill overlooking the bay. They hang around there like they’ve done ages before, sitting in a circle and talking. Ben has his head in Beatrice’s lap, his legs hanging over Claudio’s legs. Pedro’s knee presses into Balthazar’s thigh, and Ursula is braiding and undoing and re-braiding Hero’s hair. They talk about everything, from college to their future to each other. For a moment, it feels hopeful, something beautiful glittering on the horizon.

\--

University is, in his experience, a strange mix of chaos and organization. There’s the strangeness of being away from his parents and his siblings, but he likes the freedom and responsibility he now has. In the beginning, it was slow starting, an introduction into what the years to come would be, before pulling into a haul that Balthazar has to stress to keep up with. He enjoys the crunch, but he also enjoys the easy extra time that he has. There are so many new people to meet, who have lived vastly different lives but have all come here, and yet the familiarity of having Ben and Peter around him reminds him vaguely of home. It’s a strange mix, but a perfect one.

Balthazar can feel himself grow and spread out. He meets some truly great people, his favorite of which is Paige. It’s so refreshing to meet someone who is so much like him, who can understand his sexuality and his absolute love for music and also happen to be one of the loveliest people he knows. He expands more, meets Chelsey and Kit, and his classes begin to smooth themselves out and become easier. He can even feel his music growing, the different way he plays. He can watch his old videos on singing and feel the differences, the slight nuances.

Paige laughs at the videos when he shows them. “Oh, god,” she says, laughing into her hand. “I love how it’s in black and white, it just adds that dramatic flair.”

“It was an _artistic choice_ ,” he says, but he’s laughing too.

“I can see what you mean, though,” Paige says once the video has stopped. “Your playing style is different, your movements more confident. And no offense, but I think your lyrics have matured.”

Balthazar laughs again. “I’m glad they’ve matured. Could you imagine if they hadn’t?”

There’s a part of him that settles, he thinks. He’s content with where he’s at, he’s finding who he is and is happy with that person. He’s fixed so much, and he’s at peace with his body

If Balthazar found himself, then Peter remodeled himself. He announced when he moved into the flat that he wasn’t Pedro anymore, he was Peter—“An attempt to move on from the past, I suppose,” Peter said—and Balthazar could understand that. He had undergone his own name transformation, preferring Balthazar to Stanley, and so he switches over as easily as his siblings had.

Only Peter’s remodeling hasn’t worked as well—it’s as though someone, instead of fixing a falling down building, just painted over it. Peter’s grades start out fine, he has a job, he is making friends, and he is out and proud about his bisexuality. Only Peter begins to show worrying signs, a slacking off in his studies, the drinking the most worrying of all. Ben tells Balthazar not to worry, but when it continues, Balthazar can’t help but be nervous. Freddie finally catches on, and then Ben notices the lack of eating.

Balthazar knows that Peter is trying—that Peter is trying to be better than last year, to not make the same mistakes—but he seems to be stumbling into new ones at the same time. Balthazar doesn’t know how to help him, because Peter is adamantly against the idea that there is something wrong—he promises and promises that he’s doing better.

And if Peter is slowly attempting to remodel, then Ben seems to be at a full stop. Sure, he’s grown some—he’s moved onto university, taken his coursework seriously, and even settled the whole flat deal with Freddie. But Ben still remains the same in all the other ways. It seems as though he clings to their older life, back at Messina High. Balthazar can see it, in the way he always calls Peter “Pedro,” from his excitement from getting the camera back out in front of him, from the way he gets upset, almost jealous, of them hanging out with anyone but the flatmates, and especially from the way he (not so) subtly attempts to push Peter and Balthazar together.

Balthazar had warned Kit about it, telling Kit that when he’d meet the flatmates, Freddie would be hesitant and suspicious at first before warming up, Ben would be nosy, and Peter would be a little standoffish. And just from the way Ben interacts with Kit—the way he automatically assumes that something is happening between Kit and Balthazar, the way he brings up Peter into conversation—Balthazar can tell that it’s not that he doesn’t like Kit, it’s just that Ben would prefer Balthazar and Peter to get together.

Because that’s what Ben’s used to. To Ben, Balthazar has always liked Peter, and Peter may not have reciprocated those feelings back then, but he and Peter had always been _something_. Before, it might have made Balthazar amused, but now it only makes him annoyed.

He and Peter comment on it one night—it’s nearing one at night, and when Balthazar goes into the kitchen, he’s surprised to find Peter there. Peter frowns too, asking, “Why are you here?”

“Couldn’t sleep. You?”

“Just finished an assignment. Thought I’d get something to eat.” He’s chewing quietly on a bar that Freddie got, some protein bar that’s supposed to help brain function. Balthazar goes to make some tea, and Peter moves so he’s not in the way. “So, why couldn’t you sleep?”

Balthazar shrugs, grabbing a mug out of the corner. “Dunno. Just couldn’t, I suppose.”

“I think that’s what I miss most. I miss how much sleep I used to get.” Balthazar laughs, nodding his head in agreement, and Peter says, “It feels weird. I feel like there’s a camera on me right now, and later this will be in Ben’s video.”

“Not enough good lighting,” Balthazar says, because you don’t hang around Ben and cameras and learn nothing.

The corners of Peter’s mouth turn up, and he looks away, almost smiling to himself. “I thought we left it all behind,” he says quietly. “It’s weird, to be so different, but to have that camera in our faces like nothing changed.”

“To be fair,” Balthazar says, “it’s a new camera.”

That gets Peter to laugh. “Alright, smartass, you know what I mean.” He’s quiet while Balthazar pours the water into his mug, before saying, “He can’t remember to call me Peter, but he remembers to bring that fucking camera everywhere.”

Balthazar sighs. “You know how Ben is.”

“Willfully ignorant at times? Oh, yeah, I feel that a lot now.”

Balthazar can’t help but smile at that, almost fond. At the core of it all, there’s something nice about Ben never changing. “Sometimes I think he remembers my age-old crush on you than either of us do.”

“Don’t even get me started on that one,” Peter says, and Balthazar pours him some tea, too, out of commiseration. Peter accepts it gladly.

\--

Only everything is not always good.

It’s late again, and Balthazar has been strumming on the ukulele as a way to calm himself enough down for sleep. He hears some strange noise outside, along with the door shaking, so he sighs and gets out of the bed. He enters the living room right as Peter stumbles inside, catching himself on the wall to keep from falling. Peter closes the door loudly, and Balthazar winces at the sound.

When Peter turns around, he finally notices Balthazar. “Oh, fuck,” he says, taking a deep breath. “You scared the fuck out of me.”

“Another late night again?”

Peter scoffs. “Fuck off.” Only he takes one step and almost falls again, has to press both hands to the wall. Balthazar sighs and moves forward, taking Peter’s arm and helping him to walk slowly to Peter’s door.

“How did you even get home?” Balthazar asks, gripping Peter’s bicep harder when Peter leans heavily into Balthazar’s shoulder.

“Some friends,” Peter tell him, voice just barely slurred.

“Great friends they are,” Balthazar mutters, and Peter flings himself away from Balthazar to his bedroom door.

“You don’t get to fucking judge,” Peter says, opening the door, and he collapses on the bed.

Balthazar stands in the doorway, looking at Peter lying facedown on his bed, and says, “No, I guess I don’t.” Peter had smelled strongly of alcohol, though Balthazar couldn’t place the exact type, and smoke had lingered on his person, as though he hadn’t smoked himself but someone around him had. Pity flashes through Balthazar briefly, before being overtaken by an overwhelming feeling of emotion, something that makes him want to wrap Peter up and stroke his hair. He lets it pass, an ache forming in his gut.

He won’t always feel that, he thinks. It’s almost believable—a voice in the back of his mind reminds him that he’s liked Peter for about five years now, and it’s never disappeared—but he knows that the ache in his stomach around Peter won’t always be there.

However, for now it is, so Balthazar goes into the kitchen to get a glass of water and some pills. He walks back to Peter’s room and hands them over. Peter grumbles and pushes him away, but Balthazar insists, and so finally Peter takes it.

After that, Balthazar decides to leave. He pauses once again in the door, some words on his tongue, but he isn’t sure what he would say. Maybe _you can’t just act horribly while you’re drunk and pretend like it never happened when you’re sober_ , or maybe _you can’t just act nice when you’re drunk and pretend like that’s really you_ , or maybe just: _why do you hate that we worry about you?_

He doesn’t. Balthazar just shuts the door quietly and makes his way back to his own room, where he’ll stay up for another two hours, strumming on the ukulele and thinking on everything around him.

Two months later, the flat rules are implemented.

\--

Balthazar has just finished his coursework when Rosa calls. He’s a bit surprised, because he knows that she’s coming home soon, but he answers anyways.

“Hello, Rosa,” he says.

“Wow, I’m surprised you actually answered,” she says, her voice more cutting than usual.

“Is there something wrong?” he asks.

“You mean, besides your lack of communication?”

“I’m—what are you talking about?”

“You don’t call or skype Mom and Dad anymore, you only text,” Rosa says. “Jojo has been telling me how you hardly call, and your niece—your _niece_ , Balthazar—has asked why her uncle stopped singing to her over the phone.” Balthazar winces. “Genevieve and Theo tell me you’re being an asshole and you never answer them, so. I think that’s substantial evidence.”

“I haven’t—it wasn’t on _purpose_.”

“Which is even more worrying,” Rosa says. “You didn’t even notice that you were dropping off your family, Balthy.” Her voice becomes quieter. “Are you okay?”

“What? Of course—of course I’m okay.”

“Well, whatever is going on, there’s no excuse to ignore your family. Jojo still had time to call us, you can do the same,” Rosa says.

Balthazar rubs at his eyes. “Alright, I’ll call everyone.”

Rosa sighs. “I didn’t want to bully you into anything, Balth. I wanted to make you’re okay. Are you eating okay?”

“Yes.”

“School isn’t too stressful?”

“No, I’m doing well.”

“Are you getting enough sleep?”

“I—” Balthazar pauses, considering his recent late nights.

Rosa clears her throat. “I assume that’s a no.”

“It’s just been recent.”

“So? Why aren’t you sleeping well?”

“I don’t _know_ , Rosa,” Balthazar says, hoping it doesn’t come off too snappish. “I just can’t. But maybe _you_ can tell me, you've always liked telling me who I am.” He immediately regrets saying the words and deflates a little. 

Rosa is quiet for a moment. “Alright, Balthazar. Fine. Call everyone else, and maybe take some sleeping pills tonight.”

Balthazar closes his eyes, rubs his knuckles against his eyes. “Yeah, I got it,” he says. Then, unwilling to continue the talk about him, “Are you excited to come home?”

He listens to her talk about returning to New Zealand and seeing the family again, about staying in Wellington, and wonders if he’ll ever be able to get through a conversation about himself. He feels like a hypocrite—he hates being ignored and getting the impression that his feelings don’t matter, but when someone asks him about himself, he diverts the attention away.

Then he wonders if that really mattered, because his family had still noticed. Then he wonders if there really is something wrong with him inside, if there’s a reason why he is staying up late, if there’s a reason why sometimes he can’t be around people. If there’s a reason why Rosa was right when she said that sometimes, Balthazar just wants to lock himself in his room and hide away.

\--

It doesn’t always work out. There are days when Peter and Balthazar stand too close, look too long, and they come upon a mutual agreement, without even really saying it, to not speak to each other. They manage it so that Ben and Freddie don’t notice, because they would be absolutely horrendous about it, and it fades away after a day or two. It still hurts, in an uncomfortable way in his chest that he can’t really describe, but they’ve gotten so used to stuff like this.

And there are days where Ben is unbearable, where the idea of having a camera shoved in his face makes Balthazar loathe to leave his room. Somedays he feels like can’t have actual conversations with Ben without him whipping the camera out, or showing it hidden in some nook and cranny. It wears away at the edges of their friendship.

And some days Freddie blows her steam, goes off on them about what they need to do better around the house. She has a way of taking out her anxiety and nerves out on them, but it scrapes easily off their shoulders, and she locks herself away in her room again.

But for most of the time, it’s good. It’s really good. They all fit together in this small space better than expected, they can slide easily in and out of each other’s lives with a seamlessness that’s hard to find. There are nights like tonight, one of their regular movie nights, where it seems stress free. Balthazar and Freddie both had an exam earlier, and Peter had to work longer than usual at the play, so they figured a movie night was in good order.

They just finish watching _Back to the Future_ , bickering over the movie in the way that they do, even if there’s nothing really to argue about. It’s only ten, so Ben says, “Another movie?” When they all agree, he asks, “Which one?”

“Something more modern,” is Freddie’s only request. “I’m going to make more popcorn!”

“Fill up our bowl?” Balthazar asks, holding the bowl out. Freddie mutters something about laziness and grabs it, heading into the kitchen.

“Nothing with romance,” Peter says, “I’m not in the mood.” Balthazar wants to call him a liar—currently, he’s sitting on the same couch as Balthazar, his feet in Balthazar’s lap—but he doesn’t say anything, just doesn’t let his eyes linger too long.

Ben sits back on his heels and gives Peter an incredulous look. “You want me to find a movie that has no romance in it that’s actually good? Do you want us to never find a good movie again?” There’s a small pause between the three of them, before Ben sighs and says, “I’ll get _Fury Road_.”

Balthazar laughs, picking up his ukulele from the side table and strumming it a little.

“And for our between show entertainment, everyone, we have Stanley Balthazar Jones,” Peter says in a fake announcer’s voice.

Balthazar raises his eyes at Peter, and without looking at the ukulele, starts playing at a much faster pace. It’s a bit hard without looking, and it doesn’t sound smooth. Peter starts laughing when Balthazar’s finger stumble. “And the Mighty Balthazar is down,” he says in a hushed tone.

“Wipeout!” Ben exclaims, finally getting the movie out.

“Shut up, you guys suck,” Balthazar says, trying to fight off a smile.

“Ah, you’re the between show entertainment, remember? You can only sing,” Ben says, putting on his Irish accent like he’s in one of his videos.

Balthazar sighs, picks at the ukulele strings to a random tune, and sings in a over-cheery voice, “What do you do when your flatmates suck?”

“Two out of ten,” Peter says. “It didn’t rhyme.”

Balthazar will gladly take the challenge. He plays the same tune and sings, “Why do you when your flatmates suck? Why do they have to act like immature fucks?”

Freddie yells, “Stanley!” in an admonishing voice, which sets them all laughing. Peter says, “That was actually pretty fucking good,” and Ben says, “We asked for that, didn’t we?” Balthazar takes a pretend fake bow, shaking his head at all of them.

Freddie walks back in the living room, placing one bowl of popcorn on Peter’s legs and the other on the side table. Balthazar thanks her and then, strumming the same tune as before, says, “What will Freddie say? When the rest of her flatmates won’t pay . . . the rent?”

Ben and Peter laugh again, but Freddie points her finger at him. “Listen here, Jones, don’t doubt me. I’ll kick your butt out if you don’t pay it.”

“I think it was Ben who didn’t pay all of it last time, wasn’t it?” Peter asks.

“Don’t rat me out, Donaldson,” Ben says, moving back onto the couch.

Balthazar sings, “Peter gets annoyed because Ben knows, that he shouldn’t call Peter _Pedro_.”

Peter and Freddie laugh and Ben pouts, but Peter says good-naturedly, “Oh, come on, Ben, you know it’s true.”

Ben says, “Alright, I know, but I’ve been trying.” Peter throws Balthazar a dubious look at that, and Balthazar has to keep from laughing. “Do I get a song, too?” Ben asks.

Balthazar rolls his eyes but complies, playing the tune again and singing, “Where in the world where Ben go, when his flatmates kick him out for his talks on flamingoes?”

Freddie giggles and Ben throws his pillow at her. “That is a very serious worry of mine, Freddie Kingston!” he says, ducking when she throws the pillow right back.

“And that concludes our between show entertainment,” Peter says in his commentator voice again. “Let’s get back to the movie.”

Ben and Freddie stop throwing pillows at each other, Peter turns off the light on the table, and Balthazar puts his ukulele back on the table. The movie begins and everyone hushes down.

Everything is good.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are greatly appreciated :) 
> 
> and I would also like to add that I'd written the Jones family reunion's BEFORE it was announced in the latest Balth in a Bath video, so I am extremely proud of that.
> 
> my tumblr, if you want to talk, is [here](http://montygreening.tumblr.com/) :)


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